Threadbare
by Krashi
Summary: People said you learn from experience, that the scars you bear in this world reflect you, mirror you and tell of your deeds. Not all scars lie upon the surface. The wounds can fester and turn rancid with hate, fear and loneliness. Torn flesh can heal but wounds of the mind may never close, the walls we build to surround the heart may not crumble and smother our cry for help.


Threadbare

/Author's notes/  
Alright, well, where to begin? This is my very first fan-fiction, for Sims no less!  
I am very interested in testing the waters with this one, I have been writing for a bit and would not be considered the worst, but this idea would _not_ leave me alone. So for once I am intrigued to see what other people think of my writing as there is only so much I can do by myself so criticisms are greatly appreciated. Even if you haven't read this I am putting up warnings.

Rating: M

_Italics for thought processes._

Themes: Guy x Guy sexual indication, 'smut' if you will, or 'lemon'. As in, you don't like that? Then don't read. Use the time for something you'd enjoy.

Warnings: Abuse between parent and child (not sexual abuse, mind), violence, swearing, (and just in case) Triggering scenarios. I cannot utterly define them as of yet but I wish to add this in, just to be safe. Also mentions of organized crime rings/ divorce and once again for those who missed it; yaoi.

/End of notes/

Chapter One: There's the Door

Sitting hunched at the table, hands wringing nervously in her lap, hues of icy blue darted to the only clock in the room. Awaiting punishment. Punishment for merely breathing the same air as he did. The small, red numbers that glowed ominously in the murky light whispered of what was to come. The anticipation of every punch, every blow that was to fall upon milky skin, now pock-marked with bruised flesh. A trembling smile tugged at the edges of thin, ashen lips...A moment of irony and cliche washing over her, even as she thought those very words. The realization was riveting.

_It wasn't always like this_; her mind cooed softly at her, she was brought back to a time when she did not live in sudden fear. _The door is locked you know. _She almost answered herself. He was going to be home any minute now. That did not stop the onslaught of memories;

'But _Mum, _really! If you're in a relationship like that, just leave!'  
'It's not quite that simple, dear'  
'Huh! The door's, like, _right there_ it's the easiest thing in the world!'  
Her mother had smiled sadly at her then, but it was alright then, it was a time to be naive, stupid, innocent. Her flower had been plucked long ago and now she withered and waned upon the vine. Now? Now she was aged, lines marred her face and...And..._What? 'No one else would love you?' Really? _Her thoughts were a plague in their own right, taunting of '_just how easy it is, if only you were strong enough...' _

Drawing her thin legs to her chest, the simple white leggings she wore under the plain, green dress that clothed her, the bare brown shoes. '_Can't havin' you looking too pretty, now, can we?' _The drunken slur would not leave her peace. After such torment it was all she wished for. But it was all so bland, so tasteless. She was not the same person she remembered. Not the one that smiled back at her through the gloom from across the dingy room. A thin, simple frame sat upon the yellowed tiles, '_they used to be white, ya' know' _and that was the time she longed for again.

To be trapped just so in that moment of pure happiness as that miniature copy of her was. She looks so happy. Victor, too. Even _him. _It wasn't as simple as that. It would _never_ be as simple as that. Never again. No matter how she wished for it, hoped for it..._breathed _for it. If only for Victor's sake. Her dearest little boy.

'_You know the front doors locked, right?' _her psyche decided to provide, a fruitless laborer of useless information. She stood, trying to dust off the layer of grime that seemed to stick to every fiber of the place. Pacing the kitchen, as she's done many a night, again she simply frowned distastefully at her surroundings. The small, cluttered bungalow was littered with beer cans and half eaten microwave food trays. It wasn't right. To have brought a child into such utter _filth. _'_To even think what you just thought now?' _ She felt herself flush hotly, pink painting itself across a dulled canvas of sallow whites, blues, browns, _reds. 'Such pretty colors.'_

'The side door, that's locked too.'

Folding her thin arms, she had just about enough of this life. How could she have ended up here? She was meant for so much _more. _The thin walls were easily penetrated by moaning winds, the icy gusts cutting through plaster as would a knife through butter...'_or flesh, that too.'_

Victor was...What, four? You _can't _blame her, for having no-one to talk to, no one to help. Even when her need was great. She was her own company, day and night. Even the icy blues that Victor cast her could not sooth her. When she was cut too deep, even Victor's tiny arms, '_so thin, so very thin', _tried their best to wrap around her she could only comfort herself. Victor did not understand. He knew something was wrong but the mind of a child could not process that _daddy and mommy did not love each other. That mommy was _terrified _of daddy, that one day...it could all end in _blood_. _Hers.

'_I wouldn't even go near the bathroom window.' _She was prisoner, the small window would fit a small frame such as hers, and she could be free. '_What of Victor? Spare not a thought for him?' _The guilt had dulled with time, as her once passionate thirst for life, to simply live, had dwindled. Over time, Victor did not simply fit into the equation anymore. '_He knows it, too'_ of that she had no doubt. The wide eyes that mirrored hers as she simply tried to soothe him,

'Daddy's just a little mad with mommy today' as she tried to lie away the obvious.  
'But...Daddy's always mad at mommy' there once was a time where she could lie, but it seems that a mere four and a half year old could unravel her carelessly laid paving of white lies. She had smiled, but the little raven-haired boy had simply frowned, as if looking deep into her soul and just knew.

'_Your trapped...he forgot to lock the back door' _she started at this. But it was no lie. The door that was just off to the back of the house was opened just a notch. It beckoned to her as she was sure that she could hear his very footsteps against the gravel of the driveway. Victor. She paused. He was still upstairs, tucked away in pale blue blankets as thin and threadbare as her dress. There was not time.

Time did not slow, not a single thought even entered her head. As if on auto-pilot she was already at the door, turning it as the front door was being unlocked. '_Victor would be all alone you know...Like you were' _guilt did not touch her. In that moment it was pure want to survive. She swore she could smell the stagnant stench of alcohol even from where she pried the door open.

Only when the door was beginning to shut behind her did she spare a single glance to Victor's room. It was fleeting, a second passed when the urge to just endure it all for his sake and try again another day.

The voice in her head that just would not leave her had other ideas. Strange how they sounded so alike, '_What does he know? Of suffering? Of pain? Let him learn. For if he does not, and then you will have to be taught anew. Quick, run now, before the noose about your neck tightens upon your handmade guillotine.'_

Another smile graced her lips, thin and pale, and it was then that Alice knew she'd never look back...


End file.
